


Fire and Powder

by scribblemoose



Category: Merlin (TV) RPF
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Romance, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-09
Updated: 2018-05-09
Packaged: 2019-05-04 09:31:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,276
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14590062
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scribblemoose/pseuds/scribblemoose
Summary: Eoin takes a side trip to the North of England and runs into an old friend.





	Fire and Powder

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mrs_leary (julie)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/julie/gifts).



> Disclaimer: No disrespect to any persons mentioned herein is intended. I have no idea who they are, or whom they love in real life. I'm just playing with my imagined idea of them. I was vastly inspired by Alex's impending spell as Romeo in the City I love and live in!
> 
> For Mrs Leary with thanks for organising this great fest, for a great prompt and for permitting me to sneak in at the end!

Eoin dumped his bag on the conspicuously posh hotel bed and went to the window. He was drawn by the view that (according to Hilary) made it the best hotel room in York. But Hilary didn't know Eoin, didn't know he didn't give a shit about having the best room - she was someone his agent had sent to PA for him because his agent had a thing on, and didn't understand why he'd want to do a book signing in York anyway.

The view was fucking amazing.

York Minster was big, probably seemed even bigger than it was because it had no competition. Eoin tried to imagine a New York skyscraper next to it and failed. This city had its own scale, and this fucking huge riot of gothic peaks and gargoyles was the benchmark. But it was sort of... Friendly. The stone was creamy and worn. It sat there and soaked up the late afternoon sunshine like a cat, emitting a soft warm glow. Just like Pierrefonds.

Eoin let out a flat sort of laugh, and turned away from the windows. Made sense. Life coming full circle.

He unzipped his bag and pulled out a bag of toiletries and a clean t-shirt. Time to get on.

Books didn't sign themselves, after all.

 

Waterstones in York wasn't the biggest book shop in the world, but the staff were friendly and security discreet ('I was in the London Branch for a Harry Potter once,' the girl told him as she showed him to the table. 'It was epic.') It smelled of books, like a bookshop should, and sprawled over two floors, each section its own little space with walls made of bookshelves. It was Nice, like most of York seemed to be. Oddly not Twee, although it had all the ingredients.

He settled himself behind a stack of hardback copies of _Castle_ , (or 'Castle of Kittens' as he still affectionately called it to himself) and picked up a Sharpie.

The event was ticketed and relatively sedate, but took way longer than advertised, not least because Eoin insisted on signing anything put in front of him. He was happy for fans to get photos and drew a lot of silly pictures, including several dragons. (He'd practised dragons. They tended to come up a lot.)Eoin soaked up the love and felt insanely, almost unnervingly lucky, until he looked up at the very last person in the queue.

Alexander Vlahos leaned across the desk, his stage smile on, and said, "How about 'From Gwaine to Mordred, eh?" Eoin got up, and they hugged, and it seemed really friendly. He could hear some of the fangirls giggling and squealing in the background. But Alex thumped him a little harder than strictly necessary on the back, and whispered in his ear, "I can't believe you actually fucking came here, you bastard."

Eoin's stomach sank.

 

The doors were shut and the staff were clearing up. Eoin tried a smile, but Alex's eyes were cold and angry, tension in his neck and shoulders that Eoin had never seen for real before. Well, maybe once.

"How about a drink?" Eoin said.

Alex's gaze darted to the security guy, who was helping the Waterstones assistant stock up the severely depleted _Castles_ display.

"Alex-"

"Splendid idea," said Alex, putting his freshly-signed copy of _Castles_ into the posh messenger-bag slung over his shoulder. "Your hotel or mine?"

Eoin had been hoping for a pub - a very public pub - he wasn't sure how much it would take to tip Alex over, and he certainly didn't want it to happen here, in this nice bookshop in front of the nice assistant who was on the cusp of a romance with the security guy.

"You're in a hotel?" he said.

"Well, okay, it's a flat. By the river. Fuck that, let's go back to yours. We have a lot of catching up to do. Have you got somewhere awesome? Bet you have."

He said it so lightly, with a dazzling smile and a little laugh, that to anyone who didn't know him, this was just Alex being Alex. Bouncy as a puppy, soft as a kitten. But Eoin did know him. And God, Alex was such a fucking brilliant actor. Instinctive, heartfelt, threw himself in head-first every time. But some things no actor could fake. Not in front of their friends.

Well, except for Colin fucking Morgan, but he was just pure, incandescent talent wrapped up in a gorgeous, glowing skin. Eoin wished he was here right now. Cols would take Alex to one side and sort him out, without Alex even realising what he was doing. He'd speak a few soft words and laugh his scrunched-nose laugh, and tell him a truly sick joke,and then everything would be alright again.

"C'mon," Alex said. "It's a long time since I got proper, Irish-drunk."

"Yeah," said Eoin. "Let's do that."

 

He didn't know what he'd expected. Maybe that Alex would start yelling, or hit him, or give him a letter from his lawyer. Whatever it was, Eoin expected it to happen the minute they walked through the door. But it didn't.

Alex twirled his way to the window of Eoin's room, his arms spread wide, taking in all the extravagance of their surroundings. "This is magnificent. Wow. American telly, man, opens up all the doors."

"Take a seat," said Eoin. "I'll get glasses."

Alex looked out at the view, and let out a low whistle.

They'd bought a pack of micro-brewery beers and some ridiculous elderflower vodka Alex had chosen from a strange little shop on the way back. Eoin wanted whisky but he knew that when he wanted it this much it was a bad idea, so he sat in the chair by the window, put a couple of glasses on the table and cracked open a beer. He took a long swig from the bottle. Alex was still standing, staring out of the window.

"Not a bad place to spend a summer," said Eoin.

Alex turned around, gave him a quick, dangerous smile, and opened the vodka. It smelled like afternoon tea in Harrods. He half-filled his glass, and took a sip. "Did you see Colin's play?"

Eoin shook his head. "Couldn't make it."

"Me neither. Rehearsals. Also, not so keen on London right now." He set his drink down on the table.

"Alex-"

"You might want to write that down." He sat down, crossed his legs at the ankles and folded his arms across his chest. "You can use it later. Carry on. I don't mind."

"It's not what you-"

"Jesus, Eoin! What the fuck were you thinking!"

And there it was. Out in the open. Flashing anger and hurt and that cruel little gleam in his eye, like a cornered cat.

"It's not you."

"Don't mistake me for someone stupid."

"I know it might seem-"

"No. You don't get to weasel out of this."

"I'm not. I-"

"What was it? Pressure of bringing out a third novel so soon after the second? Stuck for ideas?"

Eoin stared at the label on his beer bottle. There was a picture of a Roman emperor on it. He picked at the corner.

"Have you spoken to Kajsa?" Alex said.

"Alex, it's not you. It's just a character."

"So you haven't, then. Because I bet she'll-"

"Yes, I have, as a matter of fact. She read it before I sent it out. She doesn't have a problem with it."

Alex looked out of the window and muttered, "Of course she fucking does."

"I didn't want to hurt you. If I'd thought you... Look, the guy's black, for fuck's sake, and forty. He's a plumber. Why on earth would you think he's you?"

"Oh, so you're defining me by my age, race and occupation? Nice, Eoin. Nice."

"That's not what I meant. And look, it's the other guy that comes off worse. Much, much worse. It's pretty clear he's the villain."

"Just, just, fucking listen to me. For one minute." Alex took a gulp of vodka, then leaned in, elbows on the table, drink cradled in his hands, looking Eoin straight in the eye.

Eoin wanted to wriggle away, not look back, but he owed him this. He kept himself steady, and locked his gaze on Alex.

"You hurt me," Alex said.

"I didn't-"

"I thought you'd be there for me, when it all fell apart. I thought you'd understand. You didn't. You sided with her. And, okay, I was in a different fucking country and you're such a gentleman and I got over my damn self, but you threw away years of friendship with your fucking lack of loyalty, man. And if that wasn't enough, now you've gone and put it all down out there in print. You're making money from my fucking heartbreak."

"Mate, you're wrong."

"Oh, yeah, I get it, nobody would recognise me, no persons living or dead, blah fucking blah. That's not the point. You've put me and her and my fucking car crash of a break up in your fucking novel and now you've come to flaunt it here. I mean, seriously. Nobody does this. You should be busy with book tours of New York and Ireland and the Hay fucking festival. I shouldn't have to look at you. But I take a job in the North of fucking England and you pop up to throw this in my face. Why, if not to rub my fucking nose in it?"

"I wanted to see your play."

"What?"

"I didn't... Jesus, Alex, I didn't realise myself what I'd done until Tom mentioned it. He thought you'd be upset, but you never got in touch so I thought maybe-"

"What, so I'm supposed to read your fucking novels the second they come out just in case I'm in them?"

"I wanted to see your fucking play. Because you're in it."

Alex knocked back the rest of his vodka in three gulps and poured himself more.

"I don't think this is about the book," said Eoin, bravely.

"Oh, really?"

"I think this is about us. The thing that nearly happened in LA when you came to see Kajsa that last time."

"Oh, I see, the 'thing that nearly happened'. That makes so much more sense than me being pissed off with you for fucking putting my life in your book."

"She was really hurt. I just did what seemed right. I didn't know you'd take it that way. You had Lauren."

It was the truth, but Eoin had expected Alex to come back at him. He'd never let an argument go easily, and, okay, Eoin could have handled all of this better, maybe he deserved it.

But Alex went still, and quiet, and sat back in his chair, all the fury gone out of him.

"Right," he said. "I had Lauren."

A dreadful suspicion landed on Eoin. Suddenly it made sense. Alex furious over something that happened well over a year ago, chasing ghosts, up here in York, apparently all by himself on a Friday night. Eoin licked his lips, tasting rich malt and hops. "How is Lauren?"

"Busy. In London."

Eoin waited.

"She got to keep the dog," Alex said. "I loved that fucking dog."

"Shit," said Eoin.

"If you say you're sorry, I'll fucking kill you." Alex paused, ran his hands through his hair. "Sorry is for when people die. Nobody died."

"Alex, I'm... I had no idea."

"Yeah, well, we didn't make a fuss. I'd say it was amicable but..."

"It's never amicable, right?"

"'These violent delights have violent ends', right?"

"I'll drink to that."

Eoin reached out his beer bottle. Alex hesitated for a split second, then clinked it with his glass. Vodka splashed onto Eoin's hand. He licked it off. Then he downed the rest of his beer, and opened another.

"You know the worst part?" Alex said. "It feels like karma."

Eoin laughed. "You didn't do anything wrong."

"How can you say that? In your stupid book-"

"In my stupid book Iain falls in love with a dancer and abandons a woman who was way too good for him anyway. Do you really think that's how I see you?"

Alex shrugged, and looked out of the window.

"Do you really think I haven't been there myself?"

Alex's gaze snapped back to Eoin.

"Iain really isn't based on you, Alex."

Alex swallowed, slowly. The last light of the day cast his features in shadows: his sharp jaw; perfect, slanted cheekbones; long, elegant neck. His hair fell around his ears in wild curls.

"I missed you," Eoin said.

"Yeah. Well." Alex cleared his throat. "It's been one fuck of a year. If it hadn't been for Evan...."

Eoin had some theories about Alex and Evan, based on something Bradley had said when they'd had dinner a few weeks ago. But he sensed now wasn't the time. "I meant it, you know. I came all this way to see your play. You'd better be on top form tomorrow or I'll heckle."

"Seriously?" Alex smirked at him. "Got a ticket?"

"Check my wallet if you don't believe me."

Alex put his drink down, and got to his feet. He wasn't entirely steady on them. Eoin got up too. A bit quick.

Alex giggled. "You alright, old man?"

"Yeah. I've been in fucking America too long. Their beer is like piss."

"Come on, then. Show me the goods."

Eoin raised an eyebrow, and Alex laughed.

"This ticket, for tomorrow, that you're keeping in your wallet like a lover's photo." Alex put his hand to his heart. "Show me."

"If you insist." Eoin reached for his back pocket, but Alex got there first. He lifted Eoin's wallet like a pro and flicked it open. He tipped his head to one side, his eyes wistful, maybe a little sad.

He was looking at the picture, the one Eoin always kept there. All the knights, sitting on the steps at Pierrefonds, shirtless. Skin lit gold by the French sun. Rupert, Tom, Ade in the back. And in the front Eoin, with Alex sprawled in his lap, biting his ear.

"I remember that," Alex said, softly. "Bradley took it, right?"

"Yeah."

"Oh. And here we are." Alex plucked the ticket out of Eoin's wallet. "You were telling the truth all along. I'm impressed."

"Yes," said Eoin. "I was."

They were standing very close to each other. Eoin could smell elderflower and alcohol and he leaned in, chasing something else, something of that golden summer in France.

Alex kissed him, and he found it.

 

Once they started, they couldn't stop. Alex pulled them back to the bed and they fell on it, laughing and kissing. They'd done this once before, just once, when they were way more drunk and not alone, when a game of Truth and Dare in Bradley's room had gone very wrong indeed. This felt different. Alex was different, all lean and comfortable in his own skin, a long way from the puppy he was back then. He kissed messily, passionately. Well, Eoin supposed he'd had more experience since then. Especially if Bradley was right about Evan.

Eoin gave as good as he got. He was hungry for this. For sex with history and fire and passion behind it. He pulled off Alex's shirt, ran an appreciative hand over his stomach. Flat and tight, not overworked. He brushed a stiff nipple with his thumb, then skirted his hand around to Alex's back, enjoying the flex and pull of muscle under soft skin. Alex was quick to reciprocate, his hands sliding under Eoin's t-shirt, giving his abs a few tantalising whisper touches before reaching around to grab his arse. Eoin groaned, and buried his face in Alex's neck.

"Kept yourself in good shape, I see," said Alex, tugging at Eoin's t-shirt until Eoin got the hint and pulled it off. Alex rewarded him with a low whistle, and another flirty tickle across his abs. "How many hours in the gym?"

"None." Eoin smirked at him. "I was born this way."

Alex snort-laughed, and snuck his fingers under the waistband of Eoin's jeans. He tugged, and his fingers brushed over the head of Eoin's cock. Eoin groaned, and Alex unzipped his jeans and slid his hand inside Eoin's boxers.

"God, you're hard," Alex murmured, and kissed him before he could answer. Eoin thrust into his hand, rewarded by a long, firm squeeze. Alex's mouth was hot and his lips wet and flushed. Eoin really wanted it on his cock, but he knew he'd last about five seconds if that happened, and he wanted Alex naked and begging before he got that far. So with all the restraint he could muster he pulled away, dislodging Alex's hand, and pulled off Alex's jeans. They were tight, skinny, tapered - fucking mod - and peeling them off wasn't easy, especially with Alex laughing at him. But it was worth it to see him laid out on the bed like that, lean and fit and shameless. Eoin sprawled on the bed and went down on him, taking his cock into his mouth in one smooth, slippery slide. Alex gasped. His hips twitched up and his fingers fisted tight in Eoin's hair.

Eoin slowly slipped his mouth off Alex's dick, and licked the head. Not to be outdone, Alex wriggled around so he was face to face with Eoin's dick, too, and, well, it was inevitable after that. They slurped and licked and fucked each other's mouths, more gently than either of them wanted but no more than they could take. Eoin lost himself in the taste of salt and Alex's skin, soft and warm under his tongue. His masculine smell, clean sweat and a hint of that fucking elderflower vodka.

Alex sent Eoin over the edge with a gentle finger ghosting over his hole, a promise of something else, another boundary pushed, a promise of hard, thick, dirty pleasure. Eoin looked down at him, said, "I'm close," but Alex kept Eoin's cock in his mouth when he came, swallowing it all down, and when Eoin was lost and gasping and staring at Alex like he was the most beautiful damn thing he'd ever seen, Alex finally pulled off, sticking out his tongue so Eoin could see.

"Oh God," Eoin said. His lips felt numb, and he wasn't sure he could move his limbs. Alex chuckled, his eyes sparkling, and shoved him onto his back. He straddled his chest and started jerking himself off. Eoin stroked his thighs, his arse, pressed his thumbs gently either side of his balls. Alex made a roaring noise they probably heard in fucking London, and came all over Eoin's face.

They lay in a sticky, panting heap, and Eoin was drifting off when Alex said, "I bet your bathroom's amazing."

 

It was.

 

The next morning (after jerking each other off under the incredible rain-jet shower-head for the second time) they ate room-service breakfast: croissant and bacon and cheese, fresh fruit and yoghurt followed by strong, nutty coffee with an unhealthy amount of whole milk. Alex's hair fell in his eyes as he looked down, checking his phone, and Eoin watched a drop of water fall from the tip of one perfect curl, to land on his chin. He wanted to kiss it off.

"Back to LA tomorrow?" Alex asked, still looking at his phone.

"For a few days," Eoin said. "Got some things to do. Then I'm on vacation 'til September."

"Yeah? Going somewhere nice?"

Eoin looked at Alex, and then out to the Minster, its old stone already blazing in sunshine. He smiled. "Yeah," he said. "I've got a few ideas."

**Author's Note:**

> These violent delights have violent ends  
> And in their triumph die, like fire and powder,  
> Which, as they kiss, consume.  
> Romeo & Juliet  
> Act 2, Scene 6
> 
> \--
> 
> Prompt was: Eoin publishes another novel. One of the other Merlin cast members thinks they recognise themselves in the story, and is angry about Eoin presuming to have an opinion about what they have done or should do. Confrontations and the facings of truths ensue.
> 
> (Now I'm just hoping Alex never reads this and bumps into me in Watersones....)


End file.
